Chapter 8
SEBASTIAN
Matteo’s nursing his second drink and has been going on about something for the last five minutes. I couldn’t begin to guess what. I haven’t caught a single word, which is unusual for me.
We’re in the back lounge at Bellissimo, half hidden behind smoked glass and low lighting, with a clear view of the main floor.
Friday night is in full swing. The bass thrums steadily beneath our feet.
Bottles flash under bar lights. Women in tight dresses laugh brightly with men staring brazenly at their chests.
Servers glide through the crowd with trained efficiency.
Security lurks at the edges without making themselves obvious.
Ordinarily, this is easy territory for me. My club. My people. My floor. I can track a dozen moving parts at once in a room like this without losing the thread of a single one. Tonight, I lose it the second I see Valentina.
She’s near the center bar with a friend, one hand wrapped around a drink, head tipped back in laughter. Every scrap of my attention locks on her.
She looks incredible. Her dark hair is down tonight, loose over her shoulders in a way that makes me want to bury my hands in it.
She’s wearing a sleek black dress that leaves little to the imagination.
The cut bares her shoulders and skims her body so that every man who passes within ten feet looks twice.
Matteo stops talking when he finally realizes I’m not listening. He follows my line of sight, then exhales softly through his nose.
“Well, well, well.” He smirks. “If it isn’t Valentina.”
I do not look at him. “Don’t start.”
“Don’t start what, cousin?” he asks, annoyingly. “You’re the one who said never go there. That she’s your best friend’s sister and it would be bad form. I took that advice to heart, but it seems like you were just eliminating the competition.”
He’s being good-natured about it, but the barb lands anyway. He’s right. I warned him off her and still let myself catch feelings.
I take a sip of my drink and force my attention back to him. It lasts about two seconds before my eyes drift again.
Valentina is still laughing. Her friend says something and Val swats her arm with the back of her hand, smiling now in a way I haven’t seen nearly enough.
It changes her whole face, brightening it.
I’ve spent weeks watching her manage rooms, staff, details, pressure, all of it with that controlled competence of hers.
Seeing her let go for even a minute is unbearably distracting.
Matteo is still smirking. “You capable of stringing together full sentences, or are you just planning to stare at her all night?”
I glare at him. “You’re in excellent form tonight.”
“I’m always in excellent form.” He lifts his glass. “I’m just saying, she came to a club she knows you own. Maybe your forbidden love isn’t so one-sided.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not in love with her.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Go talk to her. Invite her to the VIP lounge. What could it possibly hurt?”
I set my drink down and stand up.
Matteo’s mouth twitches. “Atta boy!” he whoops.
I ignore him and head out of the lounge before he can get worse.
The floor is thick with people, though the crowd parts easily for me. I’m not sure if it’s because people recognize me, or I’ve just become so good at navigating crowds that I don’t notice the pushback anymore.
Val sees me before I reach her. I know the exact moment because the smile on her face falters.
It doesn’t disappear, but it tightens, settling into something more guarded.
More aware. Her friend follows her gaze, spots me, and dissolves into full, delighted amusement, one hand over her mouth like she’s trying and failing not to enjoy herself.
I stop in front of them.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I say.
“Sebastian DeLuca.” Her friend is still visibly trying not to laugh. “What a surprise to run into you. At this club you own.”
Val smacks her arm.
“This is my friend Gia,” she offers. “My very drunk, very annoying friend.”
“A pleasure,” I say, offering her my hand.
She breaks out into another fit of giggles.
“I like him,” she tries to whisper to Val, though she fails miserably at the whispering part.
Val lifts her glass. “Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” she says, dry as bone.
Her eyes flick up to mine. There’s challenge there. Wariness, too.
“Are you enjoying yourselves?” I ask, feeling suddenly, painfully awkward.
Gia answers before Val can. “Very much.”
Val shoots her a look.
Gia grins into her drink.
I look back at Val. “Would you like to dance?”
A simple question. Her lips part slightly. Her gaze flicks to Gia, then back to me.
“No,” she says. Definitive.
“Nonsense!” Gia shouts. “I happen to know that Val loves to dance.”
Val closes her eyes briefly. “Traitor.”
I almost smile. “Just one dance. I don’t think it’ll cause the apocalypse.”
She shakes her head. “It might,” she replies.
Gia makes an exasperated sound. “Oh my God. Just dance with him.”
Then she leans toward me with a conspiratorial expression that would be more effective if Val weren’t standing right there. “She’s been talking about you for weeks.”
“Gia!” Val huffs.
I do smile then. Can’t help it. I hold out my hand. For a second, I think she’s going to refuse again. Then something shifts in her face, something akin to resignation. Whatever it is, she sets her glass on the bar and puts her hand in mine.
Gia claps. “Have fun, you two!”
Val glares at her as I lead her to the dance floor.
The crowd folds around us in waves of light and sound.
It’s not yet packed enough for bodies to press wall to wall, but it’s getting there.
The air feels charged, and the music is so loud it’s inside us.
I stop near the middle and turn to face her. She’s tense.
“It’s a dance,” I shout over the music.
“It’s not just a dance,” she shouts back.
I rest one hand at her waist and feel her go even stiffer before the rhythm catches her enough that she has to move with me or stand there like a statue.
“Why not?” I ask.
“You know why.”
Talking becomes impossible, so instead I put my hands on her hips and guide her to the beat. She fits against me easily, grinding like she’s been thinking about this exact moment since the first time we met.
This is why it’s a bad idea, I realize. Because she wants this just as badly as I do.
Because if we give in, we’re going to hurt someone we both care about.
Nico isn’t here, though. I’m not going to tell him I’m basically dry-humping his sister on the dance floor, and I know she won’t say anything.
If Matteo knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his mouth shut too.
Her fingers tighten on my shoulder, and the atmosphere between us shifts. A line is about to be crossed, and I won’t cross it unless I’m sure she’s crossing it with me.
I give her another second. Enough room to choose. Enough room to pull away if that’s what she wants. She doesn’t. She just keeps looking at me with those green eyes, which have gone darker in the club lights, full of danger and invitation.
So, I kiss her.
No easing into it. No tentative brush of mouths that leaves room for either of us to pretend later it was accidental or harmless.
I know better than to insult what’s been building between us by treading lightly.
My hand tightens at her waist as I pull her against me and take her mouth the way I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.
For one split second, she freezes.
Then she kisses me back. She gives in with a sound so soft I feel it more than hear it, and then her hand is in my hair and her body is flush against mine and every scrap of restraint I walked onto this floor with goes up in smoke.
The kiss turns hot almost instantly, all open-mouthed, deep, and hungry in a way that makes the crowded dance floor disappear.
I taste whatever she was drinking, something cold and citrus-sharp beneath the sweetness of her mouth.
I angle her slightly, putting my body between hers and the rest of the room on instinct. Her fingers curl harder at the back of my neck. Mine slide up the bare line of her back, feeling the heat of her skin and the tight little shiver that runs through her when I do.
She breaks the kiss first, but only enough to breathe. Her forehead nearly touches mine. I can feel the rush of her breath against my mouth. The room surges around us and all the blurred lights, music, and bodies disappear.
“Tell me to stop,” I say roughly.
Her eyes open. She looks wrecked already with her lips parted, face flushed, and all that sharp self-control shaken hard enough to show me the heat underneath. One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
She shakes her head and it’s all the encouragement I need. I kiss her again, slower this time for all of half a second before she makes a small, desperate sound and I lose patience with slow altogether.
I force myself to keep one part of my mind clear even while everything else narrows to her mouth, her body, the way she moves against me.
We can’t lose ourselves in the middle of the goddamn club.
One paparazzi picture reaching Nico and this is over.
Also, I’m dangerously close to getting arrested for public indecency.
Reluctantly, I pull back just enough to grab her hand and lead her off the dance floor. She doesn’t fight me and doesn’t hesitate. She follows until we’re at the edge of the crowd, where we can actually hear each other.
“Let’s go somewhere.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Anywhere you want.”
“Okay,” she answers with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Your place or mine?”